


Sail Across Me

by iwillpaintasongforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Boat Sex, Bottom Harry, First Time, M/M, Pirate AU, Pirate Louis, Prince Harry - Freeform, Top Louis, Virgin Harry, and nautical talk, i love it, lots of fancy syntax, lots of sexy stuff, prince(ss) harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/iwillpaintasongforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a prince that is about to be forced into marriage against his will and running away to sea seems like a much better option. Louis is the captain of the infamous pirate ship <i>The Rogue</i> and he has a thing for helping defenseless creatures. Especially when they're as pretty as this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the lengthy product of the oneshot request I got for runaway prince Harry and pirate Louis! Wooooo for little inspirations that turn into big projects.

Harry is fairly certain that he could wake up every morning for the rest of his life with his cheek pressed against silk sheets and never, ever get tired of it.

There are a lot of drawbacks to being a prince; people only like you for the power, constant parties to attend with people you don’t like, constant talk of duty and propriety and what’s appropriate for one of his standing. But if there is only one bright side, it would be silk sheets. Pure indulgence, and Harry loves every minute of it.

It's one of those lazy mornings where he has nothing to do all day and he knows it, so lying in bed and letting the hours pass by is as easy as breathing. Maybe later he’ll go swimming in the sea, or play polo with some of the less detestable nobles hanging around the castle. For now, though, he's content to just lie between his nice sheets and relax.

The only problem with this plan was that even half asleep, Harry can recognize the antsy rustle of clothes as his manservant, Zayn, sits across the room and waits for Harry to wake up. It's his job to be at Harry’s beck and call from sunup ‘til sundown, and the sleepy ache in Harry’s limbs says it must be past noon. Zayn is likely going crazy with boredom just watching Harry sleep, and that more than anything has the prince propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Your highness, you’re awake,” Zayn says quietly, and yes, there is barely concealed relief in his voice. “I was beginning to worry you might have been poisoned by a rival or something.”

There’s a teasing lilt to Zayn’s voice that makes Harry smile sleepily. “If anyone had poisoned me, it would be that idiot Justin. He’s always had it out for me.”

“I think perhaps he’s jealous, sir, of your status.”

“Or of the fact that none of the women flirt with him any further after I walk into the room.” Harry’s eyes have drifted shut once more, but he knows that if he looks, Zayn’s expression will be just as amused as his own. They both know that there is no reason for the women to flirt with their prince. He's less the type of man to be enchanted by the dainty hands and rosy cheeks of a lady than he is the type to be enthralled by the muscular arms and a strong jaw of a lord. A knight in shining armor certainly never went astray.

Zayn doesn’t bring that up though; the castle is full of listening ears and the heir apparent’s preference for men is technically a secret, albeit a poorly kept one. No matter how many people whispered, the king insists that nothing be confirmed. He claims it's to prevent scandal, but privately Harry believes that his father is still holding out hope that one day Harry will wake up and fancy a maiden or two sent to his room.

But this morning is not that morning, and Harry sits up and stretches the sleep from his joints just as gay as he’d been the day before.

“Forgive me, sir, but you ought to be getting dressed soon,” Zayn says with a clear of his throat. “It’s now half noon, and your presence is required in your father’s quarters at one.”

“’My father’s quarters?’” Harry repeats in confusion. “I asked you last night what was on today’s agenda and you said the day was free.”

“It was, sir, forgive me. But this morning one of the castle messengers brought a note requesting an afternoon audience.”

He holds out a small square of paper and Harry takes it with his brow still furrowed. It’s the familiar scrawl of his father’s scribe, simply stating that he should come at one for a private audience with the king. It is not, as Zayn had politely euphemized, a request. This is an order that Harry could not weasel his way out of, no matter how ardently he wishes to do anything but visit with his father.

“Very well,” he sighs, pushing off the covers and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Hopefully he doesn’t need to talk about too much. I can only spend half an hour with him before I feel the need to rip my curls out, and wouldn’t my suitors just be so sad at that?”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of His Majesty in this manner,” Zayn cautions, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “To do so is treason.”

Harry lets him slip a tunic over his head and takes the breeches offered without protest. “Yes, well, to speak well of him is torture.”

Of all the rooms in the castle, it is those belonging to his father that Harry knows the least. He can tell you where every mop and broom is in the maid’s closet, give a detailed account of the cabinets of the kitchen, or give a guided tour of the servants’ quarters. But Harry makes it a point to avoid his father as much as possible and as a result that part of the castle is largely unknown territory.

It’s not that they don’t love each other, exactly. They’re just… _different men._

King John is a hard-nosed man with zero tolerance for mischief or mistakes, and after ruling for as long as he has, there is also no tolerance for change. He likes the typical, the usual, the perfectly ordinary. He doesn’t like policies that needed updating or sons that refuse to produce an heir.

Prince Harry, on the other hand, is perhaps best described as a flower floating down a stream. He's bright and friendly and sweet, all dimples and fond smiles, happy as ever to go with the flow. He's more inclined to hang out in the stables or ask the seamstresses about their day than he is to argue politics with visiting noblemen. In his eyes, all people are intrinsically good and if we could spend half as much time being good to one another as we do fighting over material gains, the world would be a far better place.

Harry loves his father, honestly, and there is bound to be a part of his father that loved him, too. It’s just that they're cut from different cloth. Very flammable cloths that tended to combust upon any form of contact.

When he knocks on the door it’s opened by a servant named Ezekiel and he’s immediately ushered inside. “Your Majesty, pardon me. His Royal Highness Prince Harry has arrived,” he announces at the door to the sitting room, and must be dismissed because he bows low and scampers off, leaving Harry to enter the room alone.

The king is sitting at his desk having an amber drink out of the fancy glass tumbler he got the last time their neighbors from the north visited. Both the crystal and the liquid are reflecting the afternoon sunlight, throwing little rainbows around the room in a false display of cheeriness. Harry bows from the waist, resisting the urge to curtsy cheekily like he’s always wanted to do, purely to get a rise out of his father. There’s a solemn look on the man’s face that says today is clearly not the day to test him.

“Have a seat, Harry,” says the king with a nod to acknowledge the bow. “I wish to talk to you.”

“I assumed as much when you invited me here,” Harry deadpans. He doesn’t sit.

The sass is allowed to slide with little more than a pointed glare. “Have you been paying attention to the discourse each night in the Great Hall?” he asks, apparently all business.

He’s referring to the political discussions that go on every night after dinner between the monarchs and the noblemen and dignitaries at court. They’re dreadful, in Harry’s opinion, but as the heir to the throne he’s required to go. He listens but doesn’t comment, letting the others argue back and forth about policy and action and formulating ways that he’ll do this differently, when he’s king.

“I have,” is Harry’s only reply.

“Then you know of the friction along our eastern border?”

“A few of the lords are considering seceding to join our neighbor nation unless their taxes are reduced,” Harry answers at once, because the fact that he doesn’t _like_ politics doesn’t mean he can't recognize its importance.

“The situation is getting worse every day,” the king states simply. “Our scouts came back last night with reports of countrymen being armed and trained. They’re going to secede soon, by force, if something isn’t done.”

“Shit.”

“Precisely.”

“So what’s the plan?” asks Harry uncomfortably. There’s something unusual in the way that he’s being told of this now, here, instead of in the Great Hall tonight with the other noblemen. Technically he outranks him so an advance warning wouldn’t be so very unusual, except that it _is._ This father-son duo aren’t in the habit of private discussions about anything, much less something so obviously out of Harry’s league.

Harry’s father just looks at him steadily. “We’re going to fight back, Harry. And you’re our secret weapon.”

All of the blood rushes from Harry’s face, he knows it does; he can feel himself suddenly lightheaded and clammy and his mouth is too dry to speak for several long seconds. “You’re joking,” he finally chokes out. “My militarism tutor went grey before his thirtieth year because of me. I can’t win a game of checkers, much less a battle- or a _war-”_

“You’re not going to be fighting,” the elder Styles interrupts. “I want to _win,_ not lose half my army.”

He should probably be insulted but honestly Harry just feels relief. “What kind of weapon am I, then?”

“One of peace. Diplomacy. You’re a charmer, and handsome enough.”

“Erm- thank you?”

“Can I be honest, Harry?”

If he is, it might be one of the first times in Harry’s memory. The king is a man of cunning and manipulation and he is rarely straightforward about what he wants- or rather, what he intends to take. Harry hardly dares to hope for true honesty, but he nods anyways. “Please.”

“You know Duke Richard of Eisley?”

Harry nods again. Brother of one of the rebellious lords, not all that bright but not repugnant either. A buzz in the courts due to his open preference for men. His name is usually spoken with a mix of fascination and distaste by nobles here in the castle.

His father picks up the glass his fingers have been toying with all along and knocks back the rest of the liquor it contains. “You’re going to marry him.”

“I’m going to _what?”_ Harry gasps before he can consider whether shrieking it is the wisest course of action. “You’ve got to be joking me!”

“Do I look like I’m taking part in a bit of banter?” his father fires back, refilling his glass from the decanter. “This is the last thing I wanted, for you to be revealed as-- but Eisley won’t be satisfied with anything less than an enormous show of good faith. Marrying his brother to one of the royal line, even if nothing can come of it--”

“You’re bloody right nothing will come of it,” Harry protests with a splutter. His eyes are wide and his heart pounding, still waiting for the moment where the farce will falter and they’ll both laugh at what a funny scare this was for Harry. They’ve never shared a joke before, but there must be a first time for everything and Harry desperately, illogically hopes that this is their first.

“It is our best course of action,” the king simply continues. “You will be married, and Eisley will call off his secession. The other lords will follow his lead-- they don’t have half of the resources he has. This is where you’ll be most valuable to the kingdom.”

“I’m not a bloody piece of property!” There are tears of hot anger in Harry’s eyes. “You don’t even accept the fact that I’m attracted to men, don’t pretend like this is something you think will make me happy! You’re blatantly using me.”

“I am calling upon you to do your duty as an heir to this throne!” yells his father, slamming his glass on the table and standing so he’s eye to eye with Harry. “What other good are you? Eh? I’ll get no grandson of you! You’ll win no wars! You’ll bring no honor to our family name!”

“You’re a drunk fool,” Harry hisses, “if you think that I’m going to agree to be married off to some idiot just because we happen to both be gay.”

“Just be happy that I’m not marrying you to a woman!” The king laughs, bitterly, and it makes Harry’s blood go cold. “You’re lucky there was another sinful disgrace like you to make this convenient.”

A silence falls over them, heavy and thick, dragging the king back into his seat and pulling Harry’s head down from the clouds and grounding him. The red doesn’t fade from his vision, but the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes at least refrain from falling until he turns away. “A drunk fool indeed,” he snarls.

He almost hits Zayn with the chamber door when he throws it open and storms out, but he’s too mad even to apologize. “Leave me,” he hisses when Zayn scurries to catch up to him, and is relieved to hear the footsteps behind him halt. There are some days when Zayn’s undying loyalty is a gift. There are others when it makes Harry feel almost guilty for needing to run away, to escape, to be alone.

He’s at his hideaway in record time. There’s a spot in the cliffs that overlook the sea only accessible by a hike through a narrow opening in the rocks that leads you to a little shelf tucked back into the face of the cliff. Above is an overhang that keeps out the sun and the eyes of anyone who might peer down in search of him. Below is a hundred feet of air and a collection of rocks that the waves love to beat against, relentlessly.

The solid coolness of the rock wall behind him is somehow soothing to Harry as he leans back against it. There’s enough space on the shelf for him to stretch his feet out and just barely have his feet hanging out over the side. He’s grounded here. There is a mountain at his back and the unassuming sea before him, both of which are steady and sure and _quiet._

“It’s not fucking fair,” he says lowly, because neither the mountain nor the sea will judge him. They won’t tell him that arranged marriage is part of his duty, that politics are his entire life, that he should stop focusing on the negatives and be grateful for all of the many beautiful possessions he owns as a part of his life of privilege and luxury.

There’s one wild moment where Harry thinks about how little it would matter if he flung himself off his secret little cliff right then and there. Eventually they’d find him and declare it a tragic accident, and the nation would mourn for him. Maybe the loss would calm the dissidents’ rage against the crown. His father was in good health, and Gemma had just had a son who would be old enough to take the throne in fifteen or twenty summers. The world would go right on without him, probably.

But it’s the idea that things would happen and he wouldn’t be a part of them that keeps Harry pressed up against the rock face, drawing patterns in the dirt. There’s too much adventure to be had in this life yet, and he can’t stand the thought of missing out.

Instead of throwing himself into the sea, Harry just reaches up and yanks the gold chain decorating his throat until it snaps and dangles limply from his hand like a shimmering snake, then throws that as hard as he can. The sunlight is drawn to it the entire fall, a glittering meteor sparkling its way into the sea and disappearing beneath the waves.

It makes Harry feel just the tiniest bit better. Maybe if he throws all of his lovely things into the sea, he won’t have to accept the responsibility that comes with them. It’s of more use out there in the world than it is around his neck, anyways, he thinks. Maybe it’ll wash up on the shore and some little ones playing pirates will find it and declare it treasure and sleep happy that night with dreams of a life at sea dancing in their little heads.

He doesn’t blame them for dreaming of lives as criminals in defiance of the land he’ll one day inherit. After all, the sea is far more lovely than any kingdom ashore could ever be.

Harry stands so quickly that his balance falters and he has to cling to the rocks to prevent an unwanted tumble. The idea has struck him like a lightning bolt, so clear and bright that he wonders that it took him so long to see.

To stay and subject himself to a political, unwanted marriage to an unlikeable man is unthinkable, but to leave this world and to miss out on all of life’s grand adventures is a tragedy. Harry still wants life, he just wants one that isn’t his.

It's an easy decision, really, standing there looking out over the water. The sea has always been his true love. Why shouldn’t he make his new life with it?

“The sea’s going to be my kingdom,” he whispers, just to make sure each crashing wave knows that he’s coming for them. He keeps whispering it, over and over again to himself, as he makes his way back through the rocks and up the cliffs to the castle.

He waits until nightfall to pack. The sun has gone down and Zayn is released from duty, and Harry starts to fill a bag with anything he can find. What does one need for a life at sea? Clothes, he supposes, and coin and valuables in case he needs to purchase or barter. Beyond that, Harry just stops and looks around him at all of the opulence and glitz.

There are so many beautiful things in this place, but their charm has faded and Harry can’t bring himself to be sad leaving them. He makes a vow then and there not to make room for any things in his life that don’t make him happy, no matter how beautiful.

If there’s one regret in all of this, Harry thinks as he sits and waits for time to pass with his heart pounding away in his chest, it’s that there can be no goodbye. No final kiss for Gemma, who was so strong for him when their mother died. No last cuddle for his infant nephew, who would have the burden of taking Harry’s place on the throne someday. Not even a hug for Zayn, who had been at his side since they were ten and twelve. There are people in this life that he loves, but he'll have to leave them because this life has no place for him anymore.

He tries not to think about that as the night creeps on and on.

He should have expected it, though, when there’s someone waiting beside the crumbled bit of castle wall when Harry approaches past midnight. Harry stops dead in his tracks. “Z-Zayn?”

“You’ve been sneaking out of the castle the same way since you were thirteen,” Zayn says calmly, like he hasn’t just caught the prince sneaking from the castle with a bag over his shoulder and fear on his face. “You used to buy us both beer in taverns that knew we were too young to drink. They’d charge you twice the regular price to keep their mouths shut about it.”

Harry remembers well,  his eyes getting strangely misty with it. He pretends like they aren’t. “Are you going to stop me?” he asks, a little hoarse. He doesn’t ask how Zayn knew. They’ve spent ten years together; Zayn always knows.

“From what? From running away from something terrible? Something you shouldn’t have to do?”

“It’s cowardly,” Harry fires back firmly. “I’m abandoning my kingdom. My family. You should call the guards on me and have them drag me back there to do my duty and marry the duke. You’d probably be rewarded for it.”

But Zayn simply shrugs. “I just came to tell you not to forget your sword.”

He offers the weapon to Harry with such nonchalance and such soft eyes that Harry has to wrap him in a hug before he can even think about taking the item. “You could come with me,” he whispers to his servant, to his friend.

“I’m not made for adventure like you are,” replies Zayn, “and I wouldn’t dream of holding you back. Just take care of yourself, yeah? If you won’t have me to do it for you, at least take care of yourself.”

And then the hilt of the sword is being pressed into Harry’s hand and Zayn is gone, disappearing into shadows as he makes his way back to the castle and leaves Harry to embark on his own.

Harry doesn’t look back on where he’s running from until he’s several fields away, pausing at the edge of a stand of trees to remind himself that there’s still time to go back, still the chance to change his mind. But when he looks to the west tower and sees a light go out as his former manservant extinguishes the candles in the prince’s room for the last time, a sort of peace settles over him and he turns away.

The sea sparkles at him through the trees, and that’s enough to convince Harry to put one foot in front of the other and trek through the night to find his new life.

.....................

Louis’ got one hand on the headboard, one hand on the hip of the man he’s pounding into, torso draped across the stranger’s back as both of their bodies move with every thrust. He doesn’t even know the man’s name, which makes it that much hotter when he starts moaning Louis’ own. “Please, fuck, Louis, just like that,” he begs, breathy and desperate.

He’s hot and tight around Louis’ cock and Louis fucks in eagerly, relishing the slide and the pressure of a body clenching to keep him inside. The hand on that narrow hip slides around the front to grab ahold of that beautiful cock. His mouth starts to water and he wants to take it between his lips, to taste this man, but there are too many desperate gasps coming from his lover-for-the-night to interrupt what he’s doing.

Instead, he snaps his hips forward faster, working the cock in his hand in the same rhythm. The man is arching into him, begging for more, pleading for Louis not to stop because he’s _so, so close_ and then coming with a moan all over Louis’ hand.

It isn’t until Louis’ eyes snap open and he glances down to see that the come covering his hand is his own that he realizes he’s been dreaming. Again.

“Bloody hell,” grumbles Louis, pulling his hand from his breeches and wiping it on yesterday’s tunic, which was helpfully slung over one bedpost. The lack of catcalls at his door would seem to indicate that either he’s kept the volume down this time or that no one happened to be nearby. On the other hand, the crew might just be desensitized to the sounds that often came from the captain’s room. Louis Tomlinson is rarely a quiet man, and the fact that he hasn’t had a partner in longer than he’d like to admit doesn’t stop his body from having needs that it intends to have satisfied whether Louis is conscious and willing or not.

“Fucking wet dreams at twenty-two,” the man grumbles to himself as he goes about getting ready for his day. The light through the porthole is bright enough that Louis can tell the sun is fully risen, and therefore he should really be getting up, too. He's been captaining _The Rogue_ for 3 years now, and still the crew can't manage to do a thing without him. The longer he sleeps in, the more likely that someone will crash his beautiful ship into an island or something, so it's really best that he rejoins the world.

Liam is already hard at work by the time Louis sneaks into the kitchen. “Morning, Captain,” he says cheerfully, then gestures to the far counter with the knife he's using to dice up potatoes. “Got your breakfast over there.”

“You're lucky we're getting rations in town today,” Louis yawns as he goes to retrieve his plateful of bread and a small hunk of cheese. “We've been eating the same shit for months now and it's sort of making me want to throw you overboard.”

Luckily Liam knows better than to take anything that Louis says seriously. “I'll have a word with the captain and tell him he needs to pull into port more often so I can get new rations. Don't get your hopes up though, I hear he's a real tosser.”

That sort of sass warrants something hard as a rock to be thrown at Liam's head, but Louis doesn't want to waste his bread that way.

He takes his meal up to the bridge and eats leaning out over the railing. They’d pulled into port just before sunset the evening before, and most of the crew had immediately gone out into town to cause trouble. He can see them now, stumbling back up to the pier looking worse for the wear but altogether cheerier. It isn't a large crew, just shy of forty, and Louis is able to greet them all by name as they stagger aboard.

Niall, a particular favorite of the captain for his endless enthusiasm and iron liver, looks especially bright this morning. “Ahoy!” He exclaims upon seeing Louis, leaning up against the rail next to him. “You should have come out with us last night, Captain,” he continues easily. “The tavern was about to shake apart, we were all singing and dancing so hard.”

“Well I usually make it a point not to enter buildings that are threatening to collapse,” Louis answers evasively. “Did you have a good time?”

“The absolute best, as usual. I swear it gets better every port.”

“Well I hope you've racked up enough memories to outdo the last one, because we'll be gone soon.” Louis flicks the last inedible crust into the water and brushes the crumbs from his tunic. “I think we'll pull out this afternoon.”

“Why so soon?” questions Niall, eyes dimming a little in disappointment.

“If we stay too long, someone will figure out what this ship is and who I am. Let's just say that I have a bit of a reputation for intercepting ships from this kingdom, and the king lives right up the hill there.” Louis grins fondly up at the castle like he’s remembering his very best handiwork, which is an arguable point. “I'm not very popular in this town.”

Niall's smirk matches Louis' own. “I imagine you're not too popular in any city.”

“Well that's true enough, but so be it. Go on then, get to work. I don't want to hear anything about a hangover!”

With a raucous laugh, Niall jogs off to obey. Louis returns to gazing out over the docks, answering questions and giving orders whenever his sailors approach him for guidance but mostly just watching the familiar bustle.

Over the course of the next half hour the entire crew is back aboard and about their jobs, and Niall is not the last to inquire as to why the captain didn’t go into town the night before. It isn’t all that often that they pull in these days, so the opportunity should surely be seized, yes?

It isn’t a lie when Louis answers that he just couldn’t bear to be apart from the ship. These 80 feet of wood and nails were all he had in this world, and while a happy crew and fresh supplies were always welcome, Louis doesn’t really have any desire to leave it.

Well, except for the fact that it was eighty feet of exactly no one he could fuck, but that was beside the point.

Even still, he supposes it would be in good form to at least touch dry land while he has the chance. Louis strolls down the gangplank and makes his way down the pier, dodging fishermen and shipping containers all the while. He’s almost made it to actual land when he spots something strange and beautiful at the end of the dock.

It’s a boy- a young man, really, not too much younger than Louis himself, perched on an empty crate and staring contemplatively out at the ships tied up in the harbor. Louis calls him beautiful because he’s just simply stunning, all long, curly hair and bright green eyes and lanky limbs that Louis wants sprawled out before him. He calls the man strange, though, because he’s wearing a shirt that’s as much as about three years’ pay for most of this fishermen, yet he pays no mind to the fact that there’s a young boy sneaking up behind him and about to steal his purse.

"Oi, fuck off," he says on instinct, though half a second later he isn't sure why. He isn't in charge of protecting this random stranger, and as a miscreant himself he probably should have let the lad get away with it. But he still feels gratified when the boy scampers off and the young man turns around to realize his near danger and looks at Louis gratefully.

“Thank you,” the young man says hesitantly. “I didn’t even see him coming-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis interrupts with a casual shrug. “I’ve watched him do that to fifteen people so far this morning. Thinks he’s very sly at it, too.”

He’s got very plump pink lips that curve up into a smile. “Like you think you’re being slick accepting all those pastries from your crew?”

Louis instantly flushes. His love for sweets is no secret, but if it were to get out that his sailors frequently return from town with treats for the captain to garner favor, they’d probably all stop doing it. It’s only special as long as you think you’re the only one doing it, so if he’s had four or five scones this morning that was his business alone.

“What are you, my secret admirer watching me over the garden wall?” he simply says by way of deflection. “You shouldn’t sit around and watch people like that, it’s bloody creepy.”

“You sat around watching that boy.”

He has Louis there. “You have me there.”

“Besides, I wasn’t watching you,” the man goes on. “I was watching the ship you were on.”

If he didn’t already have Louis’ attention, that would do the trick. Ports are unavoidable, and the list of ports where Louis and his ship and crew aren’t wanted includes just about every port this side of the world. When a stranger in one of those ports declares that he’s been sitting and watching Louis’ ship all day, it's bound to make him more than a little nervous. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, I was trying to figure out…” The man leans forward and finishes in a whisper. “Is that a pirate ship?”

Louis’ heart stutters to a stop. “What’s your name, kid?” he asks calmly.

“Erm- Harry.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Listen, Harry, I’ve no idea what makes you think you can go around throwing about accusations like that, but I assure you, my ship is entirely aboveboard-“

Apparently whoever this _Harry_ is, he’s got more backbone than Louis’d thought because he doesn’t flinch under Louis’ false affront. “You don’t have a name on your ship. Why is that?”

 _Because people would recognize it as the one that frequently robs other ships at sea._ “I’ve only just purchased it. It’s on the flag, see? Her name’s _Amelia.”_ Louis points up to the top of the mast where a red flag adorned with a black X flew, emblazoned with _Amelia_ in flowing black scroll. “Not that I owe you any explanation.”

Harry’s hands go up in a gesture of surrender that Louis is all too familiar with, and it makes his lips quirk up at the corner to think that he didn’t even have to threaten the kid with his sword to make it appear. He doesn’t seem truly intimidated though. “I didn’t mean any offense,” Harry assures Louis. “I just was curious. I actually- I was actually hoping it would be. I have certain- erm, business matters. To attend to. Which require particular connections.”

The massive amount of effort he’s putting into this attempt at subtlety and tact is so amusing that Louis takes pity on him. “You’re hopeless, kid,” he says with a roll of his eyes, then jerks his head for Harry to stand. “Come on, follow me.”

“Are you saying that it _is-?”_ Harry asks with wide eyes.

“I’m saying you’re an idiot for talking about things like that in a public place and if someone doesn’t get you off this dock you’ll get yourself in trouble right quick. Come _on,_ Harry, keep up.”

They take off down the pier, Louis striding quickly towards his ship and Harry stumbling along behind with his duffel bag over his shoulder. They make it all the way up the gangplank before anyone comments. “Oh ho, looks like the captain wants to stay a bit longer after all if he’s brought some company aboard, eh?” It’s Niall, of course, the cheeky brat. “What’ll it be, then, another fifteen minutes? Twenty tops?”

“What’ll it be for me to cut your purse strings and push you overboard into the harbor, eh?” Louis fires right back, and the Irishman howls with laughter and relents, continuing to coil rope around his arm in preparation for their impending departure. “Ignore my crew,” he says lowly to Harry over his shoulder. “I sail with a rough crowd.”

Harry ducks his head as they descend the ladder into the belly of the ship. “I suppose that’s pretty standard with pirates, though?”

At least they’re inside now. “Jesus Christ, kid, you _must_ quit saying thing like that. _Yes,_ this is a pirate ship. But if we wanted it announced to the world we would have sailed in with the goddamn Jolly Roger, yeah? Criminals don’t typically take very well to strangers who know too much.” This feels like another of the thousand ‘be smart or you’ll be fishbait’ lectures that he’s given to his little sisters, and Louis can’t help but roll his eyes impossibly hard.

They’re at the door to Louis’ quarters and as he turns the key in the lock Louis spares a glance over his shoulder. Harry’s eyes are wide and innocent as he swallows. “Well you haven’t killed me yet, have you?”

“Firstly, I have a soft spot for things that can’t fend for themselves. Secondly, _yet._ Now in the door with you, there are too many ears in that hallway for us to properly talk.”

Green eyes take a careful survey of the room, from the messy desk and clothes-strewn floor to the curtain which hides the bed from view. “You brought me to your bedroom.”

“To my office, actually.”

“You have a bed in your office?”

“I’ve no idea if you’ve ever been on a ship before, but space isn’t exactly ample. It’s my bedroom and my office both in one, if you want to nitpick. Sit down, will you?” Harry obeys, dropping his bag next to the straight-backed chair Louis indicated and watching carefully as Louis sinks into the plush armchair at the desk. “Now. What business do you have that’s so important you had to risk your life running your mouth on a pier about it?”

“I need help running away.”

Louis stares at him for a long moment, waiting for a punch line, but when none comes he just sighs and reaches for the decanter of brandy in his bottom drawer. “Alright, then, let’s hear it. What’s so bad that a lad like you has to run away to sea? Second son that won’t inherit enough? Did your girl fall for another lord?”

Harry smiles just a little, unoffended by Louis’ condescension. “Right. I suppose rich people can’t have serious problems, too.”

“On the contrary, I’m sure polo shoes that don’t match your horse’s tack is just devastating.”

“More or less devastating than the fact that I’m being married off to someone I don’t want to marry?”

Louis downs a gulp of liquid and then gives an indulgent shrug. “Alright, that’s pretty shit, I’ll give you that. But is she really _that_ bad?”

“He.”

Thankfully his mouth is empty or the pronoun might have made Louis spit drink all over his desk. Men who openly lay with other men were rare enough, and among the nobles it was unheard of- can’t get an heir that way and that, after all, is the point of it all for those people. He does his best to hide the shock. “Oh? Alright, then. Is _he_ that bad?”

“Not- he’s not _terrible,_ I suppose,” Harry ponderes. “It’s just the principle of the thing.”

“Do you not, erm, prefer men?”

“No, I- I do.” Harry blushes, so Louis indulges him a small smile so hopefully the poor lad won’t melt into the floorboards or anything. Far be it from _him,_ of all people, to tease about a preference for other men when his bed is probably still tacky from his eventful dream earlier this morning.

“Well that’s something, at least,” he says kindly. “So if you prefer men and he isn’t awful, isn’t that relatively tolerable given that arranged marriage comes with the money?”

“I suppose. But it’s the _reason_ I’m to marry him that I can’t live with.”

He isn’t exaggerating, Louis can see that. There’s fire in those gentle eyes that doesn’t fit. “Why are you to marry?” he asks quietly, half afraid to hear the answer.

Harry chews his lip for a long time, the struggle clear on his face. To speak, or not to speak? Eventually something in Louis’ patient gaze must convince him that the truth is best, and with a deep breath he tells it. “It’s a publicity stunt,” Harry confesses. “The man my father wants me to marry is the outcast brother of one of our enemies. He thinks that the lord will be so grateful to have his fruity brother married off that he’ll forget about the rebellion.”

The leadership gears in Louis’ brain are turning. “How serious of a threat is this enemy of your father’s?”

“Substantial.”

“And a marriage between lords is supposed to fix it?” Louis’ doubt colors his tone and he pulls a face. “You’d need a bigger olive branch than that, I’d think. Marriage is everyday, rebellion is not.”

“Well,” Harry says thoughtfully, just above a whisper, “it’s not everyday that you’re offered a prince for marriage.”

“Ah fuck,” Louis swears before the words have even fully settled in his mind, and then again when they have. “Oh, fuck. That's fantastic. My savior complex kicks in and the little lost teenager that I decide to snatch up off the pier because he's going to get himself killed turns out to be prince of the bloody country I need to get the fuck out of. That's just perfect.”

“If it helps any, I'm actually 20.”

“No, Harry, it does not. Listen, I’m very sorry that your life is crumbling around you, but I think it's probably best if you go.” Louis is on his feet, picking up Harry's bag and handing it to him. “It's nothing against you, but you can understand how a man of my profession might not feel comfortable consorting with nobles who want to kill him.”

“Well obviously I don't want to kill you, or I would have done it already. And if I wanted to turn you in, I wouldn't have put myself in danger by coming on board.” Harry is entirely too calm, especially when compared to the pounding of Louis’ own heart, but then again all he has to worry about is being turned away. Louis has forty men whose livelihoods depend on him not getting caught and the man sitting across his desk is perhaps the largest threat to that goal he's ever come across.

That being said, he does have a point. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Well if I was trying to trick you I probably wouldn't have come up with such a ridiculous story,” Harry reasons, “and I wouldn't have confessed that I'm the prince. And after all, I told you that I wanted help running away. You can't do that if I have you thrown in jail.”

Slowly Louis removes his hand from the doorknob, no less hesitant. Just because this prince was making a lot of sense didn't mean that he feels any better about the idea of helping him run away. “It's still a shitty plan, you know that, right?”

“No its not,” Harry protests, then pauses. “Why is it a shitty plan?”

“I assume you don't want your former kingdom destroyed?”

“No, not at all. I just don't want to have to do something miserable in order to keep it afloat. I wish that there was a way for me to save it without giving up my freedom…”

“Well if you run away, then here's what's going to happen,” Louis says authoritatively, sinking back into his chair so that the gears in his brain can turn more efficiently. “The prince choosing to defect from the kingdom is going to be a major sign of weakness in the crown. Any rebels will likely see this as an invitation to strike. Not only will your father not succeed in making peace, but the kingdom will likely collapse.”

Harry just stares. “Shit.”

“Which is not to say that it can't be done,” Louis continues. “It definitely can. You just need to do something that gets you away without tarnishing your father’s reputation. Yes?”

“Like what?”

“Maybe try for sympathy. Something tragic happens to you and suddenly everyone feels a little warmer towards your father. You know what I mean?”

Harry hesitates for a second before nodding. “Like if I died.”

“Alright, I suppose faking your death would do the trick,” Louis allows. “That's pretty difficult to do though, I was thinking something a little simpler.” He pauses and looks at Harry carefully. “What if you were kidnapped?”

“Won't that make him look weak though?” Harry asks, confused. “It'll look like he couldn't even keep his family safe.”

“Not if it happens while you're out and about. Then it just looks like a tragedy for your family. Meanwhile, the kingdom gets united against the common enemy- the bastard that kidnapped their prince.”

Harry is shaking his head. “But they won't know that I was kidnapped, or who I was kidnapped by. They’ll just think I disappeared and that I ran away or something.”

“We could spread information about you being kidnapped, and it won't take long for that information to work its way back to the castle. If you give someone a viable suspect, it won't take them long to convict, even if the only evidence is what people say.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Harry says quietly.

“I mean to say that if we start spreading the word around the docks that someone saw the prince being kidnapped by me, it would be believable. People expect a pirate to do something like that.”

“But you would be hunted down,” Harry protests. “Kidnapping a prince wouldn't be taken lightly.”

Louis burst out laughing. “Harry, darling, it's been a long time since I _haven't_ been hunted down. I believe I'm the number one most wanted man in your kingdom, actually.”

Harry cocks his head in confusion. “You’re the Butcher of Norwich?”

“Seriously, I lost my title to someone with a title like that? I’m insulted. No, I'm not the butcher. But I am Louis Tomlinson, captain of _The Rogue.”_

It's gratifying, seeing Harry's face light up with recognition at the name. _“You’re_ Louis Tomlinson? But the bounty on your head-”

“It’s astronomical, I know,” Louis replies smugly. “Good to see your father is still bitter about that warship of his I took down.”

“You sunk it!” Harry cries delightedly with laughter in his eyes. “An entire warship, and you just sunk it.”

“I made sure everyone was off first,” defends Louis. “I'm not a cruel man. We were barely two miles from shore. I gave everyone the option of joining my crew or swimming back to land, so if they didn't want to swim that was their own bloody fault for not choosing the better option.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“I am. So are you okay with that plan, or are you going to go find some other pirate to give you worldly advice?”

Harry appears to take the question seriously, looking down at his twiddling thumbs as he considers. It doesn't take him long. “You've been honest with me, and of all the unsavory characters I might have to turn to for help, you seem like one who might not murder me in my sleep. I don't think there's a better plan or a better pirate to carry it out with. If you're willing to help still, that is.”

Louis pretends to consider in much the same way, but his mind is already made up. He grins mischievously up at the boy. “I've never kidnapped a prince before. Nor anyone half as handsome as you.”

He can see the shiver that goes up Harry’s spine. The pupils of those green eyes dilate just the tiniest bit. “You're not actually kidnapping me,” he reminds Louis weakly. "You don't actually own me.”

“We'll see about that,” Louis replies vaguely, offering his hand to the young prince to shake. “Welcome aboard _The Rogue._ We set sail in an hour.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: boys touching boy parts ahead

It takes almost no time at all for Louis to realize that Harry is probably the most useless sailor that he's ever taken aboard. At least the ones that he kidnaps from other ships had some sort of nautical experience. Harry, on the other hand, has lots of useless knowledge about things like import costs of horse feed but couldn't tell a mast from a gangplank.

He tries him out at just about every kind of job possible on a ship. Harry is enthusiastic, certainly, doing his very best to succeed at each job Louis attempts to put him to. It's just that he's miserable at everything. It reaches the point where Louis is starting to wonder whether Harry is more of a liability than a potential asset to his crew.

The sieges themselves are the absolute worst. Harry has a sword, and he knows how to use it, and the second Louis suggests he board the other vessel with them and actually use it, he freezes. All around him men are rushing around readying to rob their unfortunate victim of everything they have, but Harry is standing like a statue on the deck and staring at Louis in horror.

“You want me to- to fight people?” he asks, voice higher than usual. “Like- cut them? Stab them?”

“Not unless they’re trying to hurt you. We instigate fights, but we do not start them. Until we’re resisted, we use only the _threat_ of force.”

Some of the fear leaves Harry’s eyes, but hesitation is still all over his face. “I don’t- I’m not sure that I could-”

Off to the side someone calls to the captain to come along, and Louis is already backing away from Harry. “Don’t worry about it. Stay here, yeah? Don’t worry about it.”

They take the ship with ease and Louis is all smiles that night, but Harry is not. He’s somber and brooding, passing out the meats they’d harvested from the raid without a single word until Louis drains the last of his tankard of ale, walks over to grab him by the arm, and drags him up to the deck. The cool air rushes around them both. “What’s the matter, Harry?”

“Nothing,” Harry immediately replies. “Why would something be wrong?”

“Because you’ve been pouting all night. No, don’t try to deny it, I’m not an idiot. Tell me, what’s the matter?”

Harry looks out over the water and screws his mouth up unhappily. “I’m useless,” he says simply. “I can’t do anything involved in life on this ship. Why didn’t I think of that before I ran away? I wanted to be a pirate and I can’t even do- piratey things.”

“Not everyone on the ship participates in the raids,” Louis defends at once. “Plenty of people have other skills that they use to help the good of the crew and never have to board another ship if they don’t want to.”

“That’s just it, though. They have _other skills._ I’m useless at everything on this ship and you know it.”

“You have to have some sort of viable talent.” He can see that the younger man is exhausted after a week and a half of trying different tasks. “Something that has to do with being on board a ship.”

“I wasn't trained to do anything nautical,” Harry mumbles. “We have an extensive navy, but it isn't the place of the royal heir to learn about how to sail. I could maybe give you statistics about various types of ships, but…”

“Okay, maybe not sailing related,” Louis tries. “What kind of things did you like to do? Like hobbies.”

Harry pauses for a moment and give it some serious thought. “I really liked swimming.”

“Yes, well, if you’re in the water then we're all in trouble because the idea of the ship is to keep us _out_ of the water,” Louis answers wryly. “Keep thinking. Anything else?”

“I didn't really have a lot of hobbies,” Harry shrugs. “Mostly my time was taken up by lessons, and swimming, and hanging out around the castle. I liked talking to everyone and knowing what was going on.”

“Oh, gossiping skills, very applicable.”

“Not just gossip! Servants know more than you think. Useful things. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, listening to what the chefs had to say about the markets and the quality of the crops. That's expert information, we didn't get that from the report.”

“The kitchen!” Louis says excitedly, having missed the entire second half of Harry’s defense. “Did you help cook?”

Harry looks at him oddly but shrugs. “Yeah, usually. They could always use more help around the kitchen, and I didn't mind the work.”

“Do you think that you could help out Liam in the kitchen? He's the only chef we have.” The idea is growing in Louis’ mind even as he speaks. “It’s a large crew for one man to cook for, and he's always looking for ideas about how to make new dishes out of the same rations.”

Now Harry is perking up a little bit more. “I could do that! I always paid attention to what they were making so that if I was hungry later I could make myself something to eat without having to bother anyone to make it for me. Do you think Liam will mind having me in the kitchen?”

“Are you joking?” Louis answers with a grin. “Everyone on this ship wants a piece of you. I'm sure he'll be delighted.”

It isn't an exaggeration. The crew in general is fascinated with Louis’ latest recruit, the largely useless lad with no sailing experience and clothes far too fine for a life at sea. It took days before Harry could go anywhere on the ship without being accosted with questions about where he came from and why he was here.

And it wasn't just his noble blood. The crew of _The Rogue_ was a rowdy crowd, and Harry is getting more than his fair share of catcalls from his new co-workers. Most of the men want nothing to do with each other even after months at sea, but that doesn't stop them from grabbing asses and trying to make new boys blush.

Which Harry does, profusely. He's the new teasing plaything of every man aboard the ship, always falling victim to a cheeky wink or sly smack to his backside. Except for his apparent shyness, Harry doesn't seem to mind all that much. He just shakes his head to reject their joking advances and goes about the task of the moment largely unruffled.

Louis is perhaps the worst one of them all. He can't help himself. Here is this gorgeous man, with his long limbs and his soft skin, uncalloused by work, all full of bright smiles and innocence. How could Louis not smile at him a little slyly every time they cross paths? How could he not pretend to avoid the question when he's publicly teased for having brought Harry aboard to be his cabin boy, especially when it makes Harry's eyes sparkle like that?

"I suppose I ought to be flattered that they think I'm worthy of warming the captain’s bed, eh?” Harry flirts one night. They're standing at the bow of the ship, peering out into the waves, and the sailor who’d approached to tease about how romantic this looked has only just walked away.

“On the contrary, I think it's me who should be flattered.” Louis’ teasing, but also not teasing at all. “It's not everyday that someone thinks you're fucking a prince senseless.”

Harry's face is instantly beet red. “They don't know that I'm a prince.”

“No, just that you’re a very attractive man and I'm a man with needs.”

It was meant to be part of the tease, but it came off more as a suggestion. Harry looks down at his hands. “What are you trying to say?

How to respond? He'd be lying if Louis said he hadn’t found himself thinking about fucking into Harry’s tight heat already since he came on board. Louis hates to lie, at least about something like that. “I’m saying that it's your choice whose bed you sleep in,” Louis settles upon, “and that mine is always an option.”

He turns and walks away before Harry can respond, hoping that retreating into the warmth of the ship will calm the racing of his heart.

Sometimes he thinks that Harry might just take him up on his offer, when he sees the boy uneasy or excited and looking like all he needs is someone to hold him down. But he never does. He keeps to himself except for the fervent glances that he shoots at Louis when he thinks the captain is occupied elsewhere and the occasional bite of his lip when he knows Louis is watching.

And Louis is usually watching. The boy is simply magnetic, always doing or saying something interesting, until Louis is in the habit of always keeping an eye out for those dark curls and deep dimples. He finds himself making more trips down to the kitchen, pretending to have questions about the menu or comments about the evening meal just so that he can see the charming boy.

One such visit happens late at night, after most of the crew is asleep in their bunks and those with evening duties are just wrapping them up. Louis had intended to go down earlier, but had gotten sidetracked talking with the navigator about the latest chart they commandeered. He isn't sure that Harry will still be in the kitchen at all, but he’s sure that he wants to try.

At first he thinks he's come too late, because the candles in the kitchen are all extinguished and there isn't a soul to be seen. Just before he turns around and makes his exit, however, Louis notices a small flicker of light coming from the storeroom. There’s a small shuffle of noise and Louis moves forward to investigate.

He can see through the crack in the door a candle placed on one of the shelves, nestled between sacks of potatoes. It sheds flickering light on various bags and crates, worn wood, well-used utensils, and a discarded pair of breeches.

The final item causes Louis to stop in his tracks, his hand hesitating on the doorknob just before he pushes it open to investigate. Something’s not quite right. He changes his angle so he can see more of the pantry through the crack in the door, and watches as a form appears in the dim candlelight. It's Harry, laid out with his head nestled on a sack of flour, body laid out lengthwise so Louis can see the side of him from head to toe. Harry's eyes are closed and his cheeks flushed, but that isn't what Louis finds himself focusing on.

The thing which Louis is enchanted by is the fact that Harry is naked from the waist down, one hand wrapped around his cock and the other pressing one long finger into his hole. The rock of his hips is unskilled, trying fiercely to get friction from both sides. He must not be used to doing this, Louis thinks, because even from his vantage point he can tell the angle is all wrong. At least the hand working his cock is practiced, twisting with each tug and teasing the tip in a way that makes Louis' own breath catch.

He can feel his cock filling up in his trousers, frozen still in the doorway, watching this beautiful man get himself off. He knows that he should stop, that he should walk away and pretend he hasn't seen anything. At most, he should hold this memory very dear and use it to keep himself warm on cold nights at sea. But he should definitely not continue to stand here and peep through the crack in the door like a desperate schoolboy.

He can't tear his eyes away. The sight is making his mouth water, is making him think crazy things like what would Harry do if he opened the door right now and went to lend a helping hand. He could push Harry's hand aside and replace it with his own, more expert by far, fingers curling up to find the proper spot inside him to make his back arch. Maybe his cock would start to leak. Maybe Louis would take it into his mouth and push his head down until it tickled the back of his throat.

Harry moans just like Louis was beginning to imagine him doing and the sound makes Louis' knees weak. He wants to smother the noise with his mouth, to feel Harry pant against his skin, to feel the bite of Harry's teeth sinking into his lip as he fucks into him-

He must not have been listening very carefully to the lookout's prediction of weather for the evening because Louis isn't expecting the ship to rock quite so suddenly, and he isn't expecting to find himself pitching forward into the unlatched door so that in an instant he goes from a safe vantage point in the hallway to stumbling into the pantry with a very startled Harry who's two knuckles deep.

“Fuck,” they say in unison. Harry freezes. Louis does too.

After a long, painful pause, Louis clears his throat. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to- I fell into the door.”

“Oh. Right. You weren’t, um… why were you out there?” Harry asks, face on fire.

It’s very hard to answer normal questions when there are still several inches of finger that Louis can’t see and he’s focusing a lot on not staring. “I was looking for you. But um, you seem occupied. So I’ll just. I’ll go.”

His exit is probably cowardly, it’s such a rapid retreat, but it can’t be any more deplorable than the way he lingers not far from the pantry door after he closes it behind himself. It’s not half as wrong as the way he lingers to listen as Harry finishes himself off, coming with a whine and a little cry less than thirty seconds after Louis leaves.

It’s odd, Louis thinks; Harry hadn’t seemed that close before Louis interrupted.

If he had any part of his mind still functioning after a sight like that Louis might have stopped to wonder if Harry noticed the bulge in his trousers when he fell into the room, but as it is he just returns to his quarters and falls into bed. He’s busy thinking about how clumsy Harry’s hands were, how much Louis could show him if he had the opportunity, how ridiculously, virginally tight he must be-

Louis comes hard, fucking up into his fist and thinking of nothing but how very much he’d like to be enveloped in every beautiful inch of Harry’s body.

He can’t pretend, after that, like nothing happened. He _should,_ he knows, but he can’t. Those few precious minutes are playing on repeat in his mind and it’s glorious, quite frankly. He thinks about it so much that he can almost feel Harry’s skin beneath his hands and the puff of hot breath against his neck.

Louis fully expects there to be consequences to that happy accident; you don’t get to walk in on an attractive man fucking himself without ruining all semblance of normalcy in that relationship. It'll be a miracle if he ever gets the chance to make eye contact with Harry again, and while the image of his swollen cock was lovely, Louis will miss the sparkle of those pretty green eyes.

At first it appears that he's right. The next morning they meet in the kitchen as Harry dices cheese and Louis comes in for his rations, and as soon as the captain comes into view, the chef almost loses a finger. His face goes red and his knuckles go white as he grips the knife and the counter and stares in horror. Louis clears his throat. “Morning, Harry.”

“M-morning, erm, Captain,” Harry stutters in answer, then disappears to rummage in a cabinet and ignore the elephant in the room.

And so it goes for days on end, a series of wildly uncomfortable meetings wherein Louis attempts normalcy and Harry appears to contemplate taking a swim with sharks. After around a week it begins to wear on Louis. It isn’t _his_ fault that he’d been in the right place at the right time. Why is he getting punished for that?

He isn’t expecting the knock on his door late one night, so he almost passes it off as the creaking of an old ship until he hears the quiet, “Louis?”

He’d just been about to extinguish his candles and go to bed, but the sound of Harry’s voice through the wood stops him. Louis stands in the middle of the small room, goosebumps of anticipation erupting on his forearms. “Harry? Erm- come in.”

“Hi,” Harry says quietly. “Is this a good time? Can we- uh, talk?”

Louis couldn’t nod any quicker. “Yeah, absolutely. Yes. Sit down. What, uh, what’s on your mind?”

Harry doesn’t sit down, but he does close the door to Louis’ quarters behind him. When he turns back around he’s fiddling with his hair. “You didn't tell anyone about what you saw,” he blurts out.

“Of course I didn't,” Louis replies, surprised. “Why would I?”

Harry shrugs. “I don't know. As a joke. Because you thought it would be funny.”

“I'm not going to disrespect your privacy like that. Besides, it's no big deal. We're literally all lads here, it happens.” Louis can feel his own face heating up in a blush that may rival one of Harry's.

Probably not though, because Harry looks close to tears. “Yeah, but not everyone likes... what I like."

“I don't understand?”

“Well, when you walked in, I had my fingers in my, um-" He falters.

It makes Louis’ heart race to hear. “In your bum, yeah. I noticed.” He licks his lips before he can stop himself. _Felt good, didn't it?_

Harry appears to stop breathing for a moment. “It's not- I don't normally do things like that, but I just- but if you told anyone-”

“Like I said, that's not my business to tell. But if you're worried about them finding out that you’re gay, you should know that none of the sailors on the ship have a problem with that. If they take issue with who I am, then they can't follow my orders. I wouldn't tolerate it,” Louis assures him.

“I don't think that they would have a problem with it,” Harry mumbles after a moment. “But they already tease me and play with me. I guess I was just worried that if they knew I liked men, they would come onto me even more.”

“Well first of all, if anybody on the ship tries to harass you for any reason, you come to me and I'll chop his fingers off without hesitation. Yeah? And second of all, don't ever be ashamed of experimenting with what you like. You deserve to be made to feel good. However you want.”

He's trying to reassure Harry, but there still something stirring in Louis’ stomach no matter how hard he tries to be professional. All of a sudden he's hyperaware of the fact that in his field of vision right now is both the man he's been lusting over and the bed where all that lusting happens. It would be so easy just to speak up now and tell Harry all the things that he would like to do to him and just how sincerely he's repulsed by the idea of any other man doing the same. Harry might even respond well, might melt into Louis with a warm kiss-

But in the end, Harry is more than just a beautiful man. He's a good one, and a sweet one, and a friend. It's hard to say when exactly Louis started thinking of him that way, but now that he's thought it, he thinks that there's probably nothing that he wouldn't do to make sure this endearingly clumsy and nautically useless young prince was happy in his life at sea, because in a way that meant that he was happy in his life with Louis.

So if that meant choking down every passionate thought he's ever had about the lad, then so be it.

“I hope you feel better now that you've got that off your chest,” Louis continues before Harry can react to that all too familiar flirtation. “You tell me if anything else starts bothering you, okay?”

Harry looks like he might be about to say something, but instead he smiles and gives a shy nod. “I will. Promise. Thanks, for- well-”

“For not telling? Yes, you've mentioned.”

“No,” Harry says quietly. “For taking care of me. People don't really watch my back like that. When you're a prince, you're sort of expected to watch your own.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that it instantly causes a lump to form in Louis’ throat because no one this sweet should have to take care of themselves. He doesn’t say that, though, because he can’t. “Yeah, well, get used to it,” he settles for replying a few steadying breaths later. “Captain's orders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless Harry is useless, endeared Louis is endeared. That's what makes the world go round <3
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: boys touching boys ahead (sunglasses emoji)

It’s about a month and a half before _The Rogue_ pulls into her first port since the one where they’d taken on Harry, and this newest sailor is buzzing with excitement. “So we’re just allowed to leave and do whatever we want?” he asks Louis as they approach land. He's on the chair by Louis’ desk with his knees pulled up watching Louis work, removing the peel from an orange and chomping down happily.

Louis’ only spending about half of his attention on the supplies report he’s meant to be reviewing, because mostly he just wants to pay attention to Harry’s excited chatter. He’s been in an exceptional mood all week, delighted by the haul of fresh fruit they got from a small private ship way out to sea. Most of the men had to  be forced to eat fruit so they wouldn’t become ill, but not Harry. He had apparently lived off of an all-fruit diet in the palace and this was a taste of home.

“I’m not your mum,” Louis answers with a slight smile, pulling off the spectacles he sometimes has to wear when he wants to do paperwork. “I’m just your boss. This is the crew’s time to cut loose. They need to blow off steam so they’re not at each other’s throats the rest of the time.”

“What about you? Do you cut loose?”

“Not in a very long while.” There’s only slight bitterness in Louis’ tone as he watches Harry lick orange juices off of his bottom lip and feels his cock twitch in response. _Too long._

Harry grins like he knows exactly where Louis’ mind has gone, which maybe he does. “That can’t be healthy. You should come out with us tonight.”

“‘Us?’ Does that mean you’re going out?” Louis redirects smoothly. “What are your grand plans?”

“I think… I want to go dancing.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t take you for the dancing type.”

“Oh I love it,” Harry replies at once. “A whole room full of people getting lost in music, bodies working, all the sweat and the energy… it’s addictive.”

And naturally that’s the exact image forming in Louis’ mind, of Harry lost in a crush of people and dead to everything except the movements of his body. It makes him feel a little uncomfortable, if he allows himself to be honest. “Just be careful out there, yes?”

“What do you mean?”

“This port, it’s- well, let’s just say it’s a port where I’m welcomed as a celebrity,” Louis answers carefully. “It’s a rough town. Lots of criminals, lots of miscreants. I don’t have to put up a false flag when we sail in because here, he who steals most gets bought the most drinks.”

There’s no change in Harry’s puzzled expression, but he tries to understand anyways. “You mean that I should be careful of my purse?”

“I mean that you should be careful of your _self._ Look, I don’t want to scare you,” Louis continues with a heavy sigh, “I just want you to be aware. There are bad people out there in the world that might want to hurt you, and you should watch out for that.”

Harry blinks up at him in a surprised sort of fondness. “Alright, of course. I’ll be careful.”

“Will you- will you do something for me?” Louis asks hesitantly, rising from his chair and moving to a trunk by the foot of his bed. He doesn’t wait for a response, just opens it up and rummages around until he finds what he’s looking for.

It's a miniature of _The Rogue_ ’s flag, black with white lines in the shape of a stag just like the one on Louis’ own right bicep. Between the antlers is the compass that graces the crook of Louis’ arm and at the bottom of the flag is the knotted rope that winds around his wrist. People often ask him which came first, the tattoos or the flag, but Louis always gives the same answer: there is no Captain Louis Tomlinson without his lady _Rogue._

The material he hands over is much finer than the flag, though, a soft silk that Harry’s fingers remember the feel of. “What’s this?”

“It’s the captain’s scarf,” Louis explains. “It’s customary when you get a new ship and have a flag made to have a matching scarf. The captain can bring it with him when he leaves the ship so that people know he carries the power of that ship.”

Harry nods. “So like wearing a crown?”

“Sort of. More like wearing a sword. No one wants to fuck with you when they can see you’re dangerous. And having a pirate ship at your beck and call is about as dangerous as it gets. Turn around.”

Louis is immediately obeyed, and once Harry’s back is to him he reaches up to wrap the folded scarf around his head so that his long curls are held back and it can be tied at the nape of his neck. “There you go,” he murmurs as he pulls the knot tight. “Normally you’d tie it ‘round your neck but this way suits you, I think. You should be alright now.”

“Why am _I_ wearing it, though?” Harry questions. “I’m not the captain.”

“No, but wearing this puts you under my protection, sort of,” Louis hedges. “It’s like saying that harming you would be the same as harming me, because I’ve given you my token.”

Now Harry’s eyes are sparkling. “Your token? Careful, Captain, you’ll give people ideas.”

“Yeah, well, as long as those ideas don’t include putting their hands on you, I’m satisfied.” Louis turns away and shuffles some papers around so he won’t have to look up. “Go on, then, go dance to your little heart’s content.”

But Harry hesitates. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, actually.”

“Why not? Stick with me, I’ll keep you safe. I’ve got the captain’s scarf.”

Louis flicks his eyes up to Harry’s face and rolls them when he sees it bears a smirk. “Is that so? Tempting, but I have things to do. Someone has to keep _Rogue_ from floating away.”

“Anchor her down and do your paperwork later,” insists Harry, reaching out to touch Louis’ arm and send a zing straight to his brain. Louis can’t help but look up now. “Go out with us. Drink. Dance. Go home with someone. _Have fun.”_

“That sounds like an order,” Louis replies, only a little breathless. “You think just because the captain gave you a token that you’re in charge now?”

“Of course not," Harry grins. “It’s my crown that makes me think I’m in charge.” His eyes lock fiercely with Louis’, refusing to back down, and there’s a fiery sort of tension building between them. Louis could almost convince himself it’s all in his imagination, except that Harry’s a little flushed too as he continues. “Does that mean you’ll obey?”

Louis shakes his head to clear it of this Harry-fog and just keeps on shaking it. “I see no crown on your head,” he answers quietly, “and this isn’t your country. I’m the prince here."

…………………

He almost sticks to his guns, too. He makes it all the way to midnight watching his candles get shorter and scribbling sums on all of his papers. He’s bound and determined to stay on the ship and do his work and not let that pretty face win. He’s stronger than that.

But then he goes up to the deck for some fresh air and looks out over the land and sees his city, and he’s done for.

And it’s really _his_ city. It isn’t where he was born, no- he left behind that place when he was sixteen and hasn’t been welcomed by the people there since. But in this city of ruffians and scoundrels and thieves, he's legend. The young lad who appeared out of nowhere and took the sea by storm, never so much as tasting defeat. Here he walked into bars and men whispered, walked down the street and men cheered. This may not be where he was raised, but now, at least, it’s home.

And it’s calling to him now, the flickering lights beckoning him closer. It’s been near six months since he’s pulled into this port, and there’s this craving itching at his skin that draws him off the ship and down the pier and onto the familiar cobblestone streets. He can pick out straight away which bars his crew will be in- the loud ones, the ones with scantily clad women lingering at every exit, the ones shaking with rowdy song. Those are the places his lads will go.

He heads for what are most assuredly _not_ the bars he’ll likely see many of his sailors. There’s one that’s a particular favorite, that’s full of smoke and quiet conversations and loud music and hearty liquor being served to shady characters. Here men and the occasional hearty woman come to drink and relax before their next deviant act. It's known for its accepting patronage, full of men who like men and women who like women and those in between who like a little of both.

He should have known Harry would stumble his way into a shady place like this.

Never, in six years, has he walked into this pub and seen dancing. These were serious men, not drunken sailors out getting rowdy. But here they were, all eyes on the dance floor and trickling steadily towards it like it’s a whirlpool and they’re ships adrift. The whirlpool is Harry; he’s found his way to the center of this bar and is swaying to the music with a tankard in hand, eyes closed.

The movements of his body are too slow, too sensual, just a little out of touch with the room. He’s in a world of his own, Louis can tell just from looking. Maybe that’s why these people are drawn to him, because he’s so obviously out of place and so clearly unbothered by it. He’s exotic. He’s tantalizing.

Louis decides he needs a drink.

There are still twenty feet of space between him and the bar when a gravelly voice roars, “Captain Tomlinson! As I live an’ breathe, it’s been too long.”

“Only half a year,” Louis replies at once to Arthur, the barkeep he’s come to know very well between all of his many visits here. “Did you miss me that much?”

“You know I did. Yer usual?”

“Absolutely, my man.” There’s a tankard of the pub’s darkest ale on the bar before he’s even settled on his stool, and he takes a few happy gulps. “You don’t get this ale everywhere, Arthur. I’ve missed you, too.”

“Happy to hear it, Louis.” Arthur leans forward and lowers his voice, barely audible over the music and the chatter. “That one over there- is that your flag on him?”

When Louis looks over his shoulder to see who Arthur is gesturing towards- as if he needs any confirmation- he finds Harry’s eyes on him, twinkling as he grins back at Louis. He’s even cheeky enough to raise his glass in a toast that seems to say, _I told you so._

“Yep, that one’s mine,” Louis replies with a long swallow of drink. “Hasn’t been causing you any trouble, I hope? Bit of a free spirit, he is.”

“By all means, send him in any time. I’m selling even more than usual. Do you know how many men have bought him drinks?”

That Louis can easily believe. “Haven’t served all of them to him, though, I’m guessing. He’d be passed out in your doorway by now.”

Someone else is at the bar demanding Arthur’s attention, but he spares one last wink for Louis. “He’d have to have left the dance floor for that.”

Louis picks up his drink and turns around on his barstool so he can see the dance floor again. Harry’s back to dancing with his eyes closed, and Louis wonders with amusement if it’s so he doesn’t have to see what’s happening around him. The men crowding close to him are not dancers by any means, standing around with drinks in hand and swaying uncomfortably. Harry is just the epicenter of some stormy phenomenon that everyone else is trying to imitate.

He can see that some of them are gazing upon Harry with more than a casual hunger, but he also sees many eyes land on the scarf taming his curls and think twice. He has  _The Rogue_ on his brow and that was strong enough even to overpower the way Harry’s curves invite touch and his movements beg for someone to dance against.

But Louis has never learned to fear his own flag, and he knows far more of this body that rocks to and fro than any of these men, and there is not a single part of him that is able to resist Harry’s pull. He drains the last of his drink, sets the tankard on the bar, and slips towards the dance floor.

Harry isn’t facing him when Louis makes his way through the crowd and places his hands on Harry’s hips, and the younger man jumps as he feels the contact. Curls brush across Louis’ face as Harry whips his head around to investigate and then relaxes back into Louis’ hold on him. “I thought you were staying in, _Your Majesty.”_

“I’m entitled to change my mind if I want to,” Louis defends, “but just so you know, it wasn’t you. I’m just particularly fond of this city. It’s fond of me, and I’m fond right back.”

“And your fondness for the city is what has you dancing with me?”

A smirk flickers across Louis’ face, but mercifully Harry doesn’t see. “No, that I did so no one else would.”

Harry laughs, a little wilder than Louis’ heard before. “Well don’t ruin all my fun.”

“You’d better be careful,” Louis warns. “There are a lot of men in this bar who look like they want you in their beds.”

There’s a falter in the swing of Harry’s hips, a new flutter of his eyelashes. “Oh? To do what with?”

He shouldn’t answer that, he really shouldn’t, because Harry knows well what every man in this room is thinking and for Louis to say it crosses a hundred lines, but he’s too drunk on the feel of heat radiating off of Harry’s skin. “Well I can’t speak for them, but I imagine they’re thinking much the same thing that I am.”

“And that is?”

Louis leans forward and whispers a quiet breath into Harry’s ear. “I want to feel you moving like that on my body.”

It must have been obvious what Louis was about to say because the words are barely out of his mouth before he feels Harry press his hips back into Louis’ so that every sway went straight to the cock that had somehow gotten half-hard in Louis’ trousers without his permission. “So take me to bed, then.”

With a strangled sort of whine that hopefully gets drowned out in the music, Louis pushes his hips forward in an instinctive search for friction. His head is dropped onto Harry’s shoulder as they grind together, and Louis can feel himself getting lost in the sensation. Harry has his hands over Louis’ where they rest on his hips, holding him there as he moves against him. His heart is pounding; the pale skin of his throat thuds with it and Louis has to restrain himself so he doesn’t bite bruises all over it.

But maybe he doesn’t have to. “Come on,” he says suddenly, taking a step back and moving his hand to Harry’s waist so it can pull him along the dance floor. Harry’s eyes open and he blinks in surprise as Louis takes the drink from his hand and drops it on a random table as they go. “I’ll buy you one in the next port,” he said smoothly, “but for right now I need to take you up on that offer.”

Harry finds Louis’ hand with his own and is silent as he’s tugged along towards the ship with only an occasional squeeze of excitement to remind Louis that he hasn’t absolutely lost his mind.

As soon as the door to Louis’ room is closed, however, the cease-fire in enthusiasm ends. Louis turns and presses Harry up against the door, hands planted on either side of Harry’s face and his mouth barely an inch from those plump pink lips.

“Stop me,” he murmurs. “If you weren’t serious, or if you changed your mind… stop me.”

“I won’t,” Harry replies firmly.

“You can-”

“I _won’t.”_ And then Harry leans forward and presses his mouth to Louis’.

Louis takes a second to sigh in relief before kissing right back, his teeth closing around Harry’s bottom lip in a gentle little bite. Harry responds eagerly, mouth opening wide and fists bunching in Louis shirt as he juts his hips forward pushing their hips together. He’s hard, too, almost as hard as Louis, and it makes the older man groan.

“Fuck,” Louis swears, and pushes forward so there’s no more space between them and their unwieldy grind can get more friction for the both of them. “Are you doing that on purpose? Are you _trying_ to drive me insane?”

And Harry’s so bloody innocent-looking when he flutters his eyes open to look at Louis that the answer has to be yes, but his only reply is, “I just want you, Louis.”

Louis can only moan in response. “ Bed. Please?” He scrambles to try to make that less of a command, but there’s no need; Harry is already pushing past him to climb onto the bed and sit there with his legs pulled up, just waiting for Louis. He’s quickly obliged, Louis pushing him gently by the shoulder to lay on his back so Louis can hold himself above him. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

“Since you saw me-?”

“Before that actually,” Louis confesses. “You’re beautiful. I couldn’t help myself.” He leans down and kisses Harry again, tongue licking into Harry’s eager mouth and tasting him, feeling the way Harry wriggles beneath him.

Harry swallows hard and licks his lips when Louis pulls back for air. “I thought you said you wanted me to move on your body?”

“I- what?” Louis makes a surprised little noise, but happily rolls over when Harry nudges him to. “What are you doing?”

“Moving on you,” Harry mumbles in answer, seating himself in Louis’ lap. When he rolls his hips forward, it’s so gently that the bulge in his trousers barely rubs against Louis’ own but hard enough to make Louis reach out to hold his hips. “Is that- is that okay?”

“That’s absolutely fantastic, yes, very much a lot,” Louis grunts as Harry grinds down again, just a touch more forcefully. He wants nothing more than to buck up into the sensation, but at the same time these teasing brushes of body on body are so _Harry_ that he wants just this. He can relish the little shivers of pleasure at each gentle roll of Harry’s hips, can feel the harmony between the light circles being made on his cock and the sweet kisses being littered all over his face, neck, and shoulders.

Harry’s hand pushes up beneath Louis’ tunic and brushes across his nipple. Maybe he doesn’t mean to, but it draws a whine out of Louis nonetheless and he can’t help but reach down and palm himself once through his breeches. Harry’s attention is drawn downwards too, mouth leaving Louis’ to tilt downward as he takes in the sight. “Can I-?”

He stops there and Louis has no idea what he’s asking for, but whatever it is, he has a better idea. “I want to put my mouth on you, Harry,” he murmurs. “I want to suck you off.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks with a blush, the press of his hips on Louis’ getting ever so slightly harder as the idea settles in his mind.

Louis brings his hands up to the top of Harry’s trousers and undoes the ties there in answer, sliding them down as far as they’ll go with his legs bracketing Louis, and runs his thumb over the tip of Harry’s cock as soon as it’s exposed. The boy on top of him shudders and leans into the touch, so Louis does it again. “I’ve been desperate to taste your cock since I saw it that night. Do you know how gorgeous your body is?”

Harry answers with a fervent kiss, all of his hesitance gone with Louis’ words. “How do you want me?” is all he asks, kicking off his trousers.

He’s guided to lie on his back with his head on the pillows, but not before Louis rids him of his tunic, too. His own shirt he tosses to the floor to mingle with Harry’s, but he’s too impatient to get his mouth on Harry to bother getting naked from the waist down just yet. Harry’s cock is fully exposed now, heavy and swollen against his stomach, and Louis sighs as he settles between Harry’s legs. “Finally,” he whispers, and presses a kiss to the inside of one pale thigh before sinking his mouth onto Harry.

Louis isn’t in the mood for teasing, doesn’t have the patience to pretend like he isn’t desperately eager for this, and he’s bobbing his head up and down the length as soon as his mouth knows the size of it, recognizes the weight of it on his tongue. Harry moans at once, chest filling up with a gasp of air and never quite deflating, but hips obediently still. “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?” he asks breathily.

He doesn’t get an answer, unless the way that Louis bobs his head down farther to take Harry deeper counts. He slides the tip of the cock along the roof of his mouth, back into his throat, past the point where his body tries to gag until he feels Harry stretching his throat and knows he can’t possibly take him any deeper. He must look a mess, slurping eagerly at Harry and licking stripes up the length when he has to stop for air, but he can’t bother being embarrassed.

“Oh my god,” Harry moans, arms reaching up to cradle his head but hands clutching at the pillow for dear life instead. “Louis,” he whimpers, and it’s half a question he isn’t sure there’s an answer to.

Louis is occupied with sinking down to swallow around the tip of Harry’s cock, but he answers by running a hand up Harry’s chest to rest somewhere over his heart. He can feel the pulse pounding there, can feel the stutter of Harry’s breath where his arm is draped over that slim torso. He trails his fingers back down, teasing across one nipple and dipping into his navel before wrapping that hand around the base of Harry’s cock so he can work the length as he pulls off and pants for breath.

In that brief second of giving up control Harry takes it, sitting up and forcing Louis to rock back onto his knees before stealing Louis’ breath again in a frantic kiss. “You feel so good,” Harry whimpers. “So- so _fucking_ good.”

“Just give me a moment,” Louis pants, “I’ll keep going. I’ll finish you off, darling-”

“Can I have your cock?” Harry blurts out.

This isn’t the first time that Louis has found himself blinking at Harry in surprise tonight, but before the words even make sense his brain is chanting _yes yes yes yes yes._ “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been fucked before,” his mouth says, a little dumbly. “What with you being a proper princess and all.”

Harry flushes right down to his toes. “Not- no. I’ve had someone’s mouth before, and hands, someone in the castle. But never anything with my bum. Have… have you?”

“Never with anyone powerful enough to have me executed on sight,” Louis gently teases. “Does that mean you trust me, then? Not to hurt you?”

“You trust me every day,” Harry replies quietly, “not to betray you. I think I can trust you to make me feel good.”

Louis lays them back down and kisses Harry softly. “That you can, lad. I promise you that.”

Harry’s legs are spread eagerly to either side of Louis’ hips, but he still shivers in surprise when Louis runs a finger across his hole ever so lightly. “Will it hurt?” he whispers.

It isn’t a promise Louis can rightfully make, but he shakes his head anyway. “I know what I’m doing,” he says with as much authority as he can muster. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll make you feel good. Better than you can do yourself.”

“How do you know I don’t do a fantastic job with myself?” Harry huffs, embarrassed.

“I saw you, remember?” Louis brings his hand up to his mouth and sucks his fingers in, making sure that they’re dripping wet before he lowers them to Harry’s hole once more. “I saw you with your fingers inside yourself, trying to please yourself.” He slips the middle digit inside slowly, kissing away Harry’s little squeak and giving him a moment to adjust. “You didn’t know the right angle, though.”

And Louis certainly _does_ know the angle, knows just where to move the soft pad of his finger to find that spot inside of Harry that makes him keen and arch off the bed a little when Louis presses down. “What- what is- Louis?”

“I told you I would make you feel good,” Louis smugly replies, kissing down Harry’s chest to nip at his hipbones as he starts working the digit slowly in and out. He takes care to keep brushing over that same spot with every thrust because it makes Harry cry out so beautifully, and it isn’t long before Harry is scrabbling at Louis’ back.

“Please, Louis, please. Will you fuck me? I need you,” Harry moans, wriggling his hips as Louis teases around his pleasure point and mouths playfully at his leaking cock.

Louis pulls back and laughs quietly. “I need to open you up a lot more before I can do that for you, darling.”

Harry reaches down between his legs and pulls Louis’ finger from him, then forcibly presses another in alongside the first, whining at the stretch. “Then please hurry. I _need_ you,” he repeats with urgency.

He isn’t joking, not in the least, so Louis does his best to coax the tightness of Harry’s body to relax into something a little more pliant. It takes work, and a third finger, but finally Harry feels like maybe he’s ready to accept Louis inside of him. He whimpers as much, impatient, and Louis laps a drop of precome off of the tip of his cock and finally, _finally_ nods his approval.

There’s a bottle of oil in one of the drawers of Louis’ wardrobe and he rises to go retrieve it, distracted momentarily from his return by the sight of Harry all sprawled out on the bed and waiting for him. His skin looks like it’s glowing in the flicker of the candles burning ever lower in the room, his eyes somehow greener when they’re that wide and earnest. He still has his hair pushed back by the scarf Louis gave him, the lines of his face sharp and strong like a graven image of some long-lost god that wandered to earth and into Louis’ bed. It’s enough to make Louis’ heart skip a beat.

He tosses the bottle on the bed and shucks his trousers at last, then climbs between Harry’s legs once more. “I want you,” he takes care to whisper, “because you’re incredible. I’ve never known anyone like you, and I never will again.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, Louis can see as much in his eyes. Instead, he just pulls Louis' mouth to his in a quiet kiss.

When he’s had his fill, Louis rocks back on his heels and grabs the bottle of oil, cupping one hand beneath his cock in an attempt to spare the sheets as much as possible as he drizzles a fair amount over his length. “This will make it slide easier,” he explains to Harry as he places the bottle aside once more. “So it won’t hurt you.”

“I trust you.”

Louis closes his eyes and works his hand over his cock at last. The fact that he’s yet to be touched has no bearing on the fact that he’s already hard, the sight and sound of Harry beneath him more than enough to have him swollen and ready. Now, with the slide of oil and skin to add to it, Louis watches as a drip of fluid leaks out and lands on the sheet near Harry’s entrance. His stomach jumps at the sight.

“Are you ready?” he asks Harry, one hand on his cock and the other supporting his weight as he leans forward to kiss the man.

“I’ve been ready,” Harry replies with a breathiness that belies the calm of his words. The nod of his head is sure, though. “Please, Louis?”

And Louis presses in, the breath leaving both of them as Harry is slowly filled up with Louis’ cock. Louis feels his eyes start to water at the tightness of Harry clenched around him but keeps the rock of his hips under control, moving deeper by degrees until he’s all the way inside. Harry just grips the back of his thighs and squeezes his eyes shut with his lips in a thin line of restraint until Louis kisses them slack again. After a moment, Louis’ cock is throbbing and most of the tension has leaked out of Harry’s body. “Y’alright, love?”

Harry pries his eyes open and takes a deep breath, then closes them again. “Feel so- full.”

“Am I hurting you?”

A flicker of hesitation, then an insistent shake of his head. “Is it- are you- is it going to feel good like your fingers did?”

Louis knows he’s being a tease when he licks his tongue deep into Harry’s mouth, but he can’t help it. “Even better, babe, I promise.”

When Louis starts fucking him in earnest, short, quick little thrusts that keep his cock deep inside Harry, all of the air gets pushed from Harry’s lungs once more. He doesn’t have the words to express how he feels, or even the breath to moan them out upon, but the way his head gets thrown back and he covers his mouth with one trembling hand are plenty enough to tell Louis that he’s doing at least something right.

Louis, however, has nothing but things to say, a string of profanity and praise that won’t stop falling from his lips as he snaps his hips forward into Harry. He doesn’t have to search around for a good angle, he can tell by the way that Harry twitches his hips to meet Louis’ thrusts that he’s found it already and that it won’t be long now before Harry is ready to come. He reaches up and presses his hand over Harry’s heart once more, like he needs reassurance that it hasn’t stopped beating.

It’s working double time, but the feel of Louis’ palm on his skin brings Harry to life a little more anyways. He moans, and it’s like the sound burst a dam in him. Now he can whimper, now he can swear and beg Louis’ name without even knowing what he’s asking for. “Louis,” he pants. “Louis, Louis, Louis-”

“Yes, darling, I’m right here,” Louis murmurs, pressing his kisses all over Harry’s face so they wouldn’t interrupt this beautiful mantra. He slows his hips for a moment, pulling out further with each thrust only to slam back in harder, his abdomen tightening up with pleasure with each push into Harry’s body.

“I’m- I’m gonna come,” Harry mumbles, barely audible, hands grabbing at Louis like he might pull away and leave Harry desperate and unfinished.

But Louis has no such intention, leaning in to kiss Harry’s neck as pride swells in his chest. Harry, this beautiful creature who by happy accident has mistaken Louis as some sort of worthy match, is going to come just from how Louis moves inside of him. His cock lays unattended to between their torsos, swollen and leaking and begging for release, all because of Louis.

He speeds his hips up again, croons into Harry’s ear to _come for me, gorgeous baby_ and watches as Harry does, spurts of thick, white cum decorating his stomach. He cries out Louis’ name, nearly a sob, and with that Louis is coming just as hard, his hips digging into Harry and holding there, relishing the way Harry’s body is clenching with pleasure and milking the orgasm right out of Louis’ cock.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whimpers while Harry gasps for air, both of them reaching for kisses but mouths too slack to do anything but rest open against one another and attempt to find breath or energy or the strength to open their eyes. Eventually Louis pulls out, and Harry grunts a little in displeasure but is quickly satisfied when Louis slumps on top of him and lays there in a tired sort of embrace.

They stay that way for a while, neither speaking, until the oil and the cum coating Harry from chest to thigh makes him start to squirm with discomfort and Louis is compelled to find a cloth to clean him with. He thinks about finding him clean clothes as well, but settles instead for working the covers out from underneath Harry and crawling beneath them with him so that the heat still radiating from their bodies created a cocoon of warmth between them.

Louis reaches out and tucks a stray curl back beneath Harry’s scarf, the soothing sound of waves lapping at the side of the ship washing over him with a sense of peace. “I’ve seen oceans that look like gold in the sunset,” he whispers. “I’ve watched the aurora paint the sky. I’ve heard mermaids sing as the sun rose from sleep, and none of it is as beautiful as you are.” He kisses the sleepy smile Harry wears. “I desire you more than any treasure I could find on any ship in this sea,” he continues, just the barest of breaths.

“You wait until now to tell me this?” Harry murmurs in the centimeter between their mouths. They’re so close he can hardly see Louis, but he can understand earnestness in those swatches of blue. “After all this time, you only tell me now?”

“Then I was your captain. Now I’m your lover,” Louis explains, and he can see the shiver the word sends up Harry’s spine and recognize it as the same that makes his skin tingle with excitement. “Now I have the privilege of whispering sweet things across your pillow.”

“Is that all you have to whisper to me?” Harry asks sweetly when the lump in his throat has gone away.

It isn't. Louis continues to whisper to Harry until long after those long lashes drift closed and he’s fallen into slumber, until the candles go out and the gentle motion of the sea has rocked Louis to sleep, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shoutout to Cece Datjonah, not only because she was quite the muse to me in planning this chapter (you can thank her for the fluff at the end), but also because she was sweet enough to illustrate _The Rogue's_ flag for me! If you want to see the sketch of what it looks like, you can find it [here](http://canonlarry.tumblr.com/post/97284825510/cece-datjonahs-artwork-that-she-made-me-earlier) on my blog :)
> 
> One more chapter to go!
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: boys doing sexy things to other boys. And a very teensy bit of flippant violence I suppose. But if you blink you'll miss it.

It should probably feel really cheesy for Louis to think that everything is different now that he and Harry are together, but that’s really just the way that it is.

By the time the last sailor has staggered back aboard _The Rogue_ the next day, everyone knows about Harry and the captain because that’s just the way things work at sea. One of the few who’d lingered on the ship the night before had overheard noises from the captain’s quarters, and he’d told people who’d told people who’d told even more people, and now Louis is being trailed down the hallway by a slightly stiff and blushing Harry and there isn’t a mariner in sight not giving the pair a knowing look.

They don’t tease as much as Louis expected, but then again, they know their captain. They know that a little ribbing here and there is all well and good, but continuing to pinch the bum of the man the captain’s become quite fond of is a dangerous activity, unless you were specifically looking to take a swim out to sea.

It’s not just the way the other sailors treat Harry that changes, either- it’s like in an instant they’ve been given permission to be honest about the fact that they’re drawn to one another like magnets and have no desire to resist. Harry still does his work in the kitchen, of course, but he spends his free time shadowing Louis now. As it turns out, he’s phenomenal with sums, and Louis gladly hands over that portion of his job to the beaming lad.

“Your tutor must have loved you,” Louis remarks as Harry neatly prints the figures he’s adding up on spare parchment. “Look how tidy you are. No wonder it always adds up correctly.”

“Maybe if you tried to be a little tidier you wouldn’t have wound up with double as many sacks of flour as you needed last month,” Harry teases.

“God, now you sound like _my_ tutor. He absolutely hated trying to teach me anything, I was always too busy running around causing trouble to focus properly- what?”

Louis pulls up short at the surprised blink of Harry’s eyes, but the younger boy just tilts his head curiously. “You had a tutor?”

The question makes Louis’ hands still where he’s folding up shirts haphazardly, fingers twitching in the rough cotton. “Oh. Yeah, for a while.”

“Were you- I mean, I didn’t think that many commoners could afford tutors,” Harry says delicately. It isn’t somewhere they’ve gone yet, to talk about Louis’ past. All he knows is that Louis has a whole slew of younger sisters, and that only because Louis let it slip one night after a few mugs of ale before his face darkened and he decided it was time for bed.

Harry waits patiently to see if Louis will reply. Eventually he shrugs. “We had money.”

“You did?”

“Mmm. Quite a bit of it, actually. I, um. I know I don’t look it, but I actually came from good breeding.” Louis abandons his task and sits on the edge of the bed, feet dangling boyishly and expression sheepish. “Could have courted you properly, had our lives turned out differently.”

“Are you- is your family noble?” Harry asks in surprise, coming to sit next to Louis on the bed, cross-legged so he can face the mystery of a man before him. “I don’t remember a holding with the name Tomlinson.”

“No, it’s Austin,” Louis answers. “That was my father’s name, my mother’s first husband. He died when I was young and she married Tomlinson, and I took his name rather than Austin’s. That’s where the money is, though.”

The name is familiar, a sizeable holding to the South that rarely appears in court but dutifully pays taxes to the crown. “I wasn’t aware there was a son in the Austin family.”

“Well no one quite wants to talk about their runaway miscreant son, do they?” Louis grins. “I was barely old enough to start being somebody in court when I left to go to sea. If you asked around, people might remember some oldest son, but generally I prefer people forget I existed.”

Harry wants to ask why, to peel back the layers of complexity on Louis until he gets to the truth at his core, but he’s almost afraid that he’ll crumble him instead. Luckily Louis can see the questions dammed up inside him anyways and smiles kindly. “I suppose you want to know why a dashing, charming lad like me turned into a ruffian? C’mere,” he says, laying against the pillows and gesturing Harry into his arms. Once they’re tangled there, he takes to stroking Harry’s curls in a way that’s maybe to soothe Harry and maybe to soothe the nervous toss of his own stomach.

“It wasn’t the most honorable thing I’ve ever done,” he begins hesitantly. “Maybe even the worst. But I was sixteen, you know? I was sixteen and I knew that I wasn’t cut out for court. I was too loud and too impudent. I’d get us thrown out of the kingdom if I had to sit in court and behave. Couldn’t play nice with others, see.”

“I could see that,” Harry says with a smile. “You still can’t play nice with others.”

“Exactly. Never would have worked. And I knew that, and- I dunno, I guess I just figured I’d be better off gone,” Louis mumbles, the shoulder that doesn’t have Harry’s head resting upon it shrugging absently. “Couldn’t hurt my family that way. And I _knew_ I could be good at sea, I knew I could turn profit. I figured I was of most use out here bringing home spoils for my family, so that the girls have a bigger inheritance to come into. That’s a lot of daughters to be married off,” he finishes with a laugh.

“Do you still see your family, then?” Harry asks curiously, craning his head to look at Louis. “You seem so sad whenever it comes up, I thought- I thought maybe you didn’t see them now that you’re a famous pirate and all.”

“No, I see them, just not often enough. Whenever we pull into port round that way I borrow some horses- _proper_ borrow, Harry, I give them back- and make the trip home. I bring them all kinds of things, whatever I can get my hands on.” Louis’ eyes get all dreamy as his mouth curls into a smile. “Their faces, Harry, when I bring them gifts… it’s like I’ve given them the world. Most of them are too young to understand the value of the gold and the art and whatnot- the oldest ones do, of course, but not the little ones- but when I bring them a doll, or a pretty hat, their eyes light up. Means the world to me.”

It’s a little hard to answer around the lump in his throat, but Harry tries. “Funny, I didn’t see any increase in the value of Austin house in recent years.”

“Love, of all my crimes, I sincerely doubt I’ll hang for tax evasion.”

“You won’t hang for anything,” Harry says fiercely, tugging at Louis until the older man is hovering on top of him so he can push their mouths together in a proper kiss. “I won’t let them hang you. You’re too good for that.”

“I’m one of your kingdom’s most notorious criminals,” Louis laughs as Harry nibbles at his collarbones. “I’m not good.”

“You’re good to your family, and you’re good to your crew, and you’re good to me,” insists Harry. “Now will you please be quiet so I can be good to you, too?

This part is getting familiar to them too, how their bodies fit so perfectly together in every possible way and how they can’t seem to resist testing that out at every opportunity. They are far from awkward hands in late-night pantries, graduated to sweaty skin and breathy moans getting tangled in the sheets of a bed Louis categorically refuses to make. Harry’s an inch from doing it for him. He spends every night here anyways.

Neither of them notices it happening, but every time Louis’ breath catches at the feel of Harry’s mouth on him, something changes. Every time Harry flutters his eyes open in the morning and sees Louis drooling on his pillow, something changes. Every time they go out into a town to dance and drink and wind up cuddled together a little tipsy and a lot adoring, something changes.

There are a hundred thousand tiny little changes that overtake the pair and as they all snowball into one massive truth, Harry and Louis conclude without alarm that this is love.

Louis loves saying it over and over again to make Harry get all dimply and soft, and loves moaning it in moments like these where Harry is seated on his cock riding him as they sail up the coast because it makes Harry so irrationally _hard._

“I fucking love you,” Louis groans. “But could you stay still for one bloody second? I’m trying to find your spot.”

Harry huffs in frustration and moves his hands from his nipples to brace against Louis’ shoulders where they’re leaned up against the headboard. “I _am_ being still,” he protests. “We’re on a _boat,_ Louis, everything moves- ah, Christ!” he interrupts himself as Louis’ grind up into him is successful at last and his vision gets hazy for a second. “Right there. Please, right there.”

“Of course, of course, I’ve got you babe,” Louis shushes, and as the ship dips in the water he finds Harry keening again without Louis having moved an inch. “Look at that,” he says with a breathy laugh, tightening his grip on Harry’s thighs. “I don’t have to do a thing. I could just sit back and let the sea fuck you.”

That’s precisely what he proceeds to do, despite Harry’s protests that _it’s not enough, Louis, please!_ “We’re about to sail into a storm,” he says cheekily, “it’ll be enough. Trust me, love.” He lays his head back against the headboard and pulls Harry in for a kiss, the younger boy still seated on his length, and as the rumble of thunder outside gets louder, the punishing waves make Harry’s flush of pleasure darken.

It’s tantalizing, this tease of the ocean, both of them waiting breathlessly for the next time a wave will disappear from beneath _Rogue_ and she’ll come crashing down, slamming Louis deeper inside Harry and making both men writhe. Somehow the suspense makes it even sweeter, neither of them controlling when the next burst of pleasure would come, and soon Harry is kissing hotly into Louis’ mouth and begging for more.

“Please, Louis, ‘m so close, just touch me, yeah?” he pants. “The sea can’t do that for you, Lou, only you can touch me like that.”

He probably knows exactly what he’s doing, playing Louis like a puppet by prodding at his need to claim Harry perpetually, but Louis just lets the marionette strings draw his hands to Harry’s cock and work him over for a few breathless moments until Harry’s making a mess of the both of them as his cum shoots over his stomach and Louis’ hand.

Louis grabs Harry around the waist and rolls them forward almost immediately, so that Harry is still shivering with aftershocks of pleasure as he’s put on his back and is fucked into much faster than the sea could ever allow. “I’ll never get tired of touching you,” Louis purrs into Harry’s mouth between bites at those pretty pink lips. “My beautiful boy.”

Less than a minute later, he’s coming too, as Harry smiles proudly and grinds his hips down into the sensation. Louis collapses on top of him and he trails his fingertips up and down Louis’ side, across the magnolia he has tattooed from ribcage to hipbone. He has a few inkings of his own now, his favorite being a detailed ship on his arm that looks suspiciously like _Rogue._ He adamantly denies the connection, no matter how many times Louis tries to torture or tease a confirmation out of him.

The older man hums contentedly at the touch of gentle skin on his still-shivering body and takes a moment to rest before pulling out of Harry and flopping onto his back beside him. Their fingers intertwine peacefully, though after a few minutes Harry gives them a squeeze. “You should probably go,” he remarks quietly, almost too quiet to be heard over the creak of wood and the battering of rain on the window. “They might want you to actually captain the ship, since we’re in a squall and everything.”

“Niall’s a good sailor, we’re fine with him at the helm,” Louis mumbles sleepily.

“Not as good as you are,” Harry points out.

Louis is forced to shrug in agreement, but he appears to remain unconvinced. “What’s my motivation?” he stubbornly demands. “Why on earth would I want to leave a bed with you in it to go do my job?”

“Well, because if we survive this storm thanks to you, then when you come back to bed I’ll fuck _you_ for round two.”

 _That_ makes one of Louis’ eyes pop open, though it immediately narrows in suspicion. “Are you _sure_ you’re not a criminal? Conning me into doing as I ought that way?”

“It would be conning you if I was lying about fucking you into the mattress once we’re through this storm,” Harry says wisely. “I’m merely exchanging goods and services. That’s economics, and I’ll have you know I got excellent marks in it.”

He needn’t have continued his convincing, though, because Louis is already rolling out of bed and throwing on clothes, including his heaviest coat and thick boots that won’t slide around as much on the wet deck. “I’m going to get all wet and cold,” he grumbles. “You’d better warm me up properly when I get back.”

Harry looks at him without a trace of tease and says, “Well I think if you aren’t sweating from head to toe I’m not doing my job right,” and Louis swears up and down he only pitches forward halfway through tying his shoe because of the storm, not because of Harry.

(Pirates are known to lie, however.)

His hand is snagged on his way past the bed and out the door and Harry looks at him seriously. “Be careful,” he simply says.

Louis kisses him deeply. “Always, love,” he murmurs. “Always, always, always.”

…………………

Maybe there is a god, and maybe he’s smiling on Louis today, because what started off as a terrible morning has just taken a turn for the better.

It was terrible because just moments ago, in the middle of a completely routine and otherwise successful siege of a fairly large ship, Louis had been forced to cut a man’s hand off with his sword. For all that he might be a notorious pirate, blood and gore is really not to his taste, so he could have gone without that particular event. The man had left him no choice, though, pulling his knife and lunging at Louis like that. His only consolation is that they’re barely a mile from port so in all likelihood the idiot will survive.

Everything vastly improves, however, when Niall comes running up to Louis and jerks his head over his shoulder. “You’d better come with me, Captain.”

“Is there a problem securing the crew?” Louis asks in concern, stepping over the whimpering, handless man in his path. He won’t be bothering anyone for the duration of the raid.

“No, they’re all bound up on the deck. But you’ve got someone who’s very eager to see you. An old friend of sorts…”

“Well if it isn’t His Royal Majesty John Styles!” Louis exclaims with delight as he sees the prisoner held between two of his men standing with his nose in the air center deck. “My former liege himself.”

“If it isn’t the insufferable pain in my arse, Captain Tomlinson,” drawled the king. “That is _The Rogue,_ is it not?”

“It is, it is, what a fine memory.”

“It comes back to me on fifteen reports a year accounting for lost goods, so I ought to recognize the flag.”

Louis presses his hand to his heart and fans himself. “Oh, please, I’m so embarrassed. A pitiful figure, I know, but I have other countries to redistribute the wealth in, you see. If you’re dissatisfied, my king, perhaps I could try to pick it up to twenty, but I’m a very busy man, so-”

“What I would like is for you to unhand me so we can properly duel,” the king sneers.

“Considering that this blood stain on my very favorite trousers is from where I have quite literally _unhanded_ one of your men, you should perhaps not test me,” Louis retorts, and by the end of the sentence he’s run out of patience. Flippance and charm are his trademark, nearly as infamous as his ability to rob anyone anywhere, but he’s been through with this conversation since it began.

“I hear you’ve been in some deep shit these last few years, _oh great king,”_ he says lowly, pacing slowly forward until there’s just a foot between their chests. “How’s that rebellion going?”

“There is no rebellion among my people,” huffs the king. “We are a united front against the enemies of the nation- scum like you who snatch our children and undermine our prosperity!”

“Oh stop it,” Louis snaps with a roll of his eyes. “Your purse is fine and your children are well enough, no thanks to your parenting.”

Finally he’s said something to truly rattle the monarch, and he watches with glee as the older man blanches. “So it’s true. You _did_ take Harry.”

“At least as often as he takes me, yes.” Louis allows himself a smug smile as several of his men snort. “Franc, be a dear, pop on over to _Rogue_ and get Harry for me, will you? There’s a good lad.”

The two ships are near enough that Franc can lay a plank between them and skip aboard _The Rogue_ , returning a few minutes later with Harry in tow. Harry appears to be concentrating greatly on his balance, arms outstretched, and Louis reaches up to take one hand and guide him the final few feet before he can safely dismount on the deck of their captives’ ship.

Only then does he look up at Louis. “What do you want me here for?” he asks nervously. “I told you I don’t want to fight-”

His words fall away as he observes for the first time the faces of the captives all around them, namely the one still standing with his chin high looking down upon the pirates. “Father,” Harry chokes. “Jesus Christ, Lou, you hijacked my father’s ship?”

“Not intentionally,” Louis answers with delight. “Happy accident, though. Go on, then, John, say hello to the son you wanted to marry off as some game.”

The king stares Louis down, refusing to look at Harry still. “I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about my decisions about this nation. Unlike you, I am an upstanding man who had to deal with the most unfortunate heir this line has ever seen-”

“You know what, John? I’m sick of your bullshit,” Louis snaps, stepping forward until he’s toe to toe with the man, fire in his eyes. “First of all, having read all of your court transcripts from the papers I’ve stolen from your shitty navy, I can attest to the fact that Harry is smarter than you a dozen times over, so you can quit on that front. Second of all, you tried to marry him off against his will, very rudely, and since I intend to marry him myself someday, I find that personally offensive. And finally, if I hear you make one single comment about the fact that he fancies men, I swear to God that I will slice open your belly and watch your insides fall out all over the deck of your shiny little ship. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry’s hand on his arm is immediate and restraining. “Don’t bother, Lou, he’ll never learn.”

Maybe he has, though, because the king remains absolutely silent as he stares straight ahead, refusing to look either in the eye. “I suppose I can spare him,” Louis growls after a pause sufficiently long to make beads of sweat appear on the man’s forehead. “But only because three years old is far too young for your nephew to be king, and I don’t want to have to return you to shore duty.”

“Four, actually,” says a man’s voice from behind them. “Just had his birthday a fortnight ago.”

Heads turn and Louis searches fruitlessly for who might have spoken, but Harry gasps at once. “Zayn!” he exclaims, tears springing to his eyes. “Oh my god, Zayn, what are you- what are you _doing_ here?” he asks breathlessly, stumbling forward and falling to his knees before a dark-haired man with a wide, bright smile and fumbling at the knots binding his ankles and wrists.

“Well I can’t be the prince’s manservant with no prince,” Zayn cheekily replies. “Had me demoted to cleaning slave.” He wiggles his arms and Louis can see that in addition to the ropes placed on him by the attacking crew, he’s also bound by chains at his hands and feet.

Harry’s head whips around and he spits at his father’s feet without warning. “Zayn’s the best man in that castle and you put him in chains,” he says in disgust before returning to picking at the knots on the man’s ropes. “Are you alright? We’ll get those chains off of you, I swear, I- if I could just get these bloody knots off-”

Louis kneels beside him and brushes his frustrated fingers aside. “I’ve got it, love,” he says gently, taking a knife from his belt to make quick work of the rope restraints and help the stranger to his feet. “I’m Captain Louis Tomlinson of _The Rogue,”_ he introduces himself with outstretched hand. “You must be a friend of Harry’s. A friend of mine, too, then.”

“We grew up together,” Harry said weakly, hugging Zayn around the neck as Louis gestured one of his men to search pockets for keys so that someone could remove the manacles at his hands and feet. “He was my manservant, but he’s my best friend, too. Louis, please, can we take him with us? They made him a _slave,_ look how thin he is- _please,_ Louis-”

“Of course, Harry, of course we’ll take him,” Louis soothes. “I’m serious, if he’s a friend of yours he’s a friend of mine. That is, provided you _want_ to come aboard,” he adds to Zayn.

Dark eyes consider him carefully, head held high all the while, rubbing his wrists absently as the chains fall off of him for the first time in years. “I won’t take your charity,” he still says proudly. “I’ll come aboard, but I’ll work for the privilege. I’ve studied astrology, I can help you navigate. I don’t want anything I don’t earn.”

“Well you’ll have to drop that philosophy right quick,” Louis grins, “since we do a lot of taking without earning around here. But if you want to make yourself useful as a navigator that’s brilliant. Half the time I think Niall just sails us around until he sees something that looks like land.”

“Hey!” the Irishman protests.

Zayn seems to relax a little and finally, _finally_ offers his hand to Louis in return. “I think I can help with that. We should probably get going, by the way, if you want to give them enough time to free themselves and get back to shore by nightfall.”

He’s right, and Louis nods. “Alright everyone, back on the ship,” he calls, watching as one by one his men hoist their bags of loot over their shoulders and walk across the plank back aboard _The Rogue._ “Go on ahead with Zayn, love,” he murmurs to Harry. “Get him set up with a bunk down with the crew. And give him some of my clothes, yeah? They’ll fit him better than yours.” Harry kisses him fondly in a silent thanks, then takes Zayn by the hand and leads him to the plank so they can cross and go inside.

Once they’re out of sight and only Niall remains with Louis on the ship, the captain purses his lips thoughtfully. Have you any rope left, Niall?”

“Aye.”

“Give me a hand, would you?”

Louis takes the king’s elbow in one hand and leads him over to the bottom of the mast where he’s in plain view of all of his crew. Niall starts to push the king’s back against it and truss him up that way, but Louis stops him just in time, twirling one finger in the air until Niall spins the man around and starts tying him so that his front is against the pole of the mast instead, both ignoring the angry flush and continued silence of the once-regal man.

“Go on ahead, Niall,” Louis instructs, and watches to make sure his first mate obeys. Niall takes his knife out and frays most of the way through one man’s ropes, so that with some time and effort he’ll be able to break free and untie the others so they could sail to safety, but not until _Rogue_ is far away. When this task was complete he walks back across the plank, never looking back, in complete and utter trust of his captain.

That left just Louis, a dazed enemy crew, and a livid king. “Just have to do one last thing before I go,” Louis murmurs to himself, stepping up to the bound man. “I’m very fond of sending messages, you see. And the message that I want to send to _you,_ Your Majesty, is this.”

In the blink of an eye Louis cuts the leather of the man’s belt and pulls his trousers down to his ankles, leaving him bare-arsed and bound before all of his subjects. Startled gasps of indignation break out from some of the crew, and the king himself looks like he may turn purple from fury, but Louis only smiles. “That’s for being an arsehole to the love of my life,” he says cheerily, taps the king’s backside with his knife, and turns away. “Pray you don’t cross my path again before your grandson is of age,” he says as a final warning.

He gets no reply, of course, but Louis doesn’t mind. He just sighs contentedly as he strolls across the plank towards _The Rogue_ and Harry, sea beneath him sparkling with the setting sun, and thinks, _let’s go home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to all of the badasses out there who keep me sailing along whenever my motivation flags and I need my butt kicked so I can keep writing. And by "keep me sailing along" I mean "hijack my ship and tie me to the mast until I have no choice except to surrender or die." Either way, you keep me going, and I love you :-*
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> ~~PS if you want the happily ever after they sail off into the sunset and they go visit Louis' family and he finds out he has a new baby sister and a baby brother and Louis and Harry get married and Harry gets a tramp stamp that says 'THE ROGUE' and Zayn and Niall probably fall in love too because ZIALL bye~~
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> canonlarry | tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> Also, happy 18th birthday to Cece Datjonah on tumblr, who helped inspire some of the later chapters and who gets this first chapter posted in her honor! Love you xoxo
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> canonlarry | tumblr


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